


Comfortable

by EurydicaeQuercus



Series: Is this what a saviour looks like? [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Chantry Issues, Depression, Gen, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurydicaeQuercus/pseuds/EurydicaeQuercus
Summary: Zaren Lavellan is finding it difficult to settle in to her new role in the Inquisition. Paranoid and anxious by nature, she cannot shake the feeling that she is not meant to be there, and that it was all some horrible mistake. Leliana tries her best to understand.





	Comfortable

Zaren stared out over the forest surrounding Haven, perched on top of the wall like some sort of grim, malnourished crow. The cold seemed to seep into her very bones, and she could feel herself trembling in spite of the warm clothes she was wearing. Her hands ached with the chill. Everything seemed deeply, irrevocably grey. The sounds of the camp behind her were strangely muffled and distant, while before her nothing disturbed the snow-covered forest. It was like looking at a picture. Only the occasional gust of wind that stirred the tree-tops shattered the illusion of stillness. 

For what must have been the hundredth time, Zaren found herself wondering what she was doing there. This time the answer came readily. She was there because she couldn’t be anywhere else. Not for any particularly moral reason. Zaren felt that morals had left the equation some time ago, along with most of her free will. No; she was there because there was no way of leaving. If she wandered out into the snow someone would find and bring her back, if she tried to steal a horse and gallop off into the night much the same thing would happen. If she did, by some miracle, avoid detection, the Inquisition would be looking for her, and sooner or later her hand would give her away. If she managed to make it back to her Clan, they would need to be constantly on the run in a way they’d never been before, possibly putting all of them in danger. 

She was trapped. 

Although she’d deliberately positioned herself so it was out of her line of sight, she could almost  _ feel _ the Chantry looming behind her, like some great and terrible beast, lurking, lying in wait. Sometimes, in her more optimistic moments, she could acknowledge that, were that terrible shadow not constantly lurking in every facet of the Inquisition, she might actually have agreed to stay of her own free will. They had noble goals. They wanted to help people, just like her. But every time she did something and felt genuinely pleased about the consequences thereof, suddenly the dark, flickering presence of the Chantry would loom in her mind, and she felt thousands of years of history at her back, hissing ‘fool’. 

It all came back to power. Everyone in the camp and in the leadership of the organisation seemed to genuinely believe in the ongoing usefulness of the Inquisition, and the way they spoke of it they seemed to believe it would last many years, maybe even outliving them. Zaren, for her part, could already feel corruption pulling at its seams. Although she had the Chantry at her back, her position afforded her a generous view of the other, more real threat that made the Inquisition more of a prison than a sanctuary. 

Below her, constantly circling and practising, were the lost and lonely templars of so many dissolved Circles. 

They were the danger. They were the threat. They were the people who, if the mood took them, could destroy all she held dear. Who had already done so, on several occasions. A mixture of fear, disgust and rage congealed in her chest whenever she observed the flaming sword that was their brand. What kind of mage could rest easy here knowing such a significant portion of the Inquisition was made up of these...monsters? The templars were fear itself, personified and made manifest into an army of men and women that were trained not to hesitate before striking people like her into dust. She would be a fool to ignore them, but the knowledge of their presence kept her lying awake long into the night and shivering from a deep, unshakable fear. 

She dimly perceived that snow had begun falling once again. Large, cold flakes floated past her. If she had the energy she could have shielded herself from them in a bubble of warmth. But she didn’t. She was incredibly tired. All of her energy seemed to have been consumed by the emotions that warred in her chest, making her shake and shudder, unable to think clearly for more than a moment at a time. It felt almost like a form of torture, albeit, one entirely of her own making. But she couldn’t escape. 

“Mistress Lavellan.”

A voice from beside her. Her focus had slipped. She turned to face the interloper. 

It was the spymaster—Leliana. Zaren had been vaguely aware, upon learning her name, that it was familiar to her. She had yet to actually place the connection, but something, somewhere echoed in her memory. She couldn’t think of any concrete reason she’d know of her though. A former Orlesian bard with strong connections to the Chantry—there couldn’t have been anyone Zaren was  _ less _ likely to know personally. And yet, it rankled. 

“Observing our forces, I see,” she said, taking Zaren’s eye contact as acknowledgement. 

“Templars,” said Zaren, and Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly, before nodding. The implication had been understood. 

“I had something to ask you,” she said, moving over to lean on the wall Zaren was perched on. “Provided you are willing to speak with me.”

Zaren caught the reference to her earlier behaviour and sighed deeply. Her instinct was to snap at her about it, but she repressed the urge, instead merely tilting her head, indicating Leliana should continue. 

“You are uncomfortable here, are you not?” she asked, rhetorically, for that was common knowledge by now. “Is there anything that can be done to remedy this?”

Zaren smiled with her teeth and not her eyes. 

“No.”

Leliana looked at her questioningly, and had anyone else been asking her, Zaren would have clammed up and let the conversation rest there. However, in spite of the circumstances, Zaren could sense a certain genuine quality to Leliana’s question that she had not perceived in anyone else’s manner when addressing her. That warranted her to a consideration the others did not deserve. 

“You think I’m being awkward, don’t you?” she said, now frowning. “But I’m not. There’s no way you can fix this. Not anymore. It’s like building a house within the flood line of a river. You notice the house keeps flooding in the wet season and ask what can be done to fix it. But you can do nothing, because the foundation of the house is unsound. All you can do is tear it down and build it again. It’s the same as my being here.”

“I see,” said Leliana, and there seemed to almost be a touch of sadness on her face. “You refer to the Chantry, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The Chantry has done terrible things to your people,” she said, shaking her head. “I wish it were not so, but it cannot be ignored. I once believed the Chantry could be a sanctuary for everyone, as it was to me. But now I am not so sure. Perhaps there truly is no way to fix it.”

Zaren turned to look at her then. She seemed...upset. Zaren’s first instinct was to reassure her, but she found herself at a loss for words. She couldn’t find a way to speak. The Chantry was such a shadow and a curse to her that she couldn’t bring herself to speak in its defence, even for the sake of another. So instead she just sat, feeling immensely helpless, as Leliana frowned, lost in thought. She had no solution. Only her own pain. And no one needed that. 

“But I shouldn’t burden you with such things,” said Leliana, coming back to herself. “I simply wondered if there was any way for you to be...less unhappy here. I know Cassandra told you that you had to stay, but I would much prefer it if you chose to remain here. I do not want you to feel you are a prisoner.”

“Why do you care?” asked Zaren, her voice shaking slightly, unsure of what answer she wanted. “You don’t need me to be comfortable, or happy. And I’ve done nothing that warrants it. All I am is an inconvenience to you, so why…?” 

Leliana frowned deeply at this, and looked directly at her, as though trying to see something that wasn’t quite there. 

“Everyone deserves to be happy,” she said eventually, turning back to look at the forest. “I believe this with all my heart.”

“Even Dalish elves?”

“Even them,” said Leliana, with an odd smile. “I once knew someone...well. I wish she were here now. You would like her better than me, I think. She would be able to help.” 

Zaren felt a deep ache in her chest. There was an intense sense of deja vu. Something in the depths of her memory screamed at her that she’d forgotten something very important. But she couldn’t quite grasp it. 

“Perhaps one day you can introduce me,” said Zaren, still trying vainly to remember what she was missing. 

“Perhaps.” 


End file.
